


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by The_Renegade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angels, Angst, Archangels, Boundaries, But what isn't when supernatural is involved, Captured, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Curse Breaking, Curses, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Disagreement, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fighting, Fights, Fluff, Gags, Ghost Hunters, Hate Sex, Hellhounds, Hunters & Hunting, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Impala, Impala Sex, Love, Love/Hate, Murder, Phone Sex, Pie, Psychological Torture, Public Sex, Reapers, Rough Sex, Salt And Burn, Screaming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sex in the Impala, Sex on the Impala, Sexual Tension, Shapeshifting, Silver Age, Snowball Fight, Stakeout, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Torture, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, Wendigo, Were-Creatures, Witchcraft, Witches, Yelling, classic, it's complicated - Freeform, tied-up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Renegade/pseuds/The_Renegade
Summary: The King family has always been Hunters, as long as Sasha King can remember. Sash took on the role with her mother, before her mother was killed. Now she operates alone, except she has one extra trick up her sleeve, one trick she never told anyone in her family about. She has premonitions. And even with all of her bad luck at seeing the future, one thing she sure as hell never saw coming was the Winchesters.





	1. Chapter 1

Sasha sat inside the practically invisible ring of salt, sitting on top of her legs, hands placed lightly on her knees. She wore nothing but a white nightgown, and her hair was tied back in a pale blue ribbon. There were candles placed around her at the points of a pentagram. Everything was exactly as it should be, exactly as she had seen it. She had seen this whole thing play out, weeks ago. Well, in glimpses, at least. And this glimpse she had seen had shown her exactly what she needed to see. Herself, the small cabin in backwoods Oregon, and that little blue ribbon in her hair. There was a poltergeist running rampant in this campground, and she was the one who would stop it. That was just the way things worked around here lately. What with her mother gone and everything....she was the only one remaining of the King Hunters.

The King family had been established as Hunters for generations now. Sash had never had any other option but to take up the mantel herself. She was trained by her mother, and her mother before her, and so on. That was before the last big attack, the one on a Vampire nest a year or so back...that was the one where her mother had fallen. Sash made sure she burned that whole fucking pit to the ground. She walked away without looking back, and took on the mantel of the King Hunters as her own. She was all that was left, after all. No siblings, no aunts, uncles, cousins. Just one brunette twenty-seven year old, alone in the world. 

And that's how she had wound up here. In some rotting old shack, surrounded by candles and sea salt, dressed like some pure virgin girl (though by all rights, 'virgin blood' is blood that had never been used in a sacrifice or pact or anything, so all things considered, her's would do just fine) waiting for this poltergeist that was hurting campers to come for her. Her leather-bound notebook sat to her left, as it always did, the rest of her belongings outside in her vintage mustang, also circled in salt. The car had been her mom's, and she wouldn't part without it. Definitely wasn't about to let a fucking pissed off ghost trash her beauty. 

Of course, she couldn't just destroy this poltergeist upon seeing it, but she still wanted to see what she was working with before she went and destroyed it. Burned the bones and all that good shit. Her mother had thoroughly believed that if the poltergeist had come from that human spirit, that they could be reasoned with, calmed down...saved, even. Sasha had pages of notes on it in her journal, detailed attempts, fails, the ones they had gotten close to saving...and while all had been unsuccessful thus far, she still felt the need to try. For her mom's sake. 

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting patiently, peacefully, for any signs of this spirit lurking around. There had been a couple deaths in the area throughout the years, it could have easily been any of those people, upset about something or other. Grave being unmarked, history tarnished, something. After she figured out which person it possibly was, she would be able to solve that problem. She took a deep breath. From behind her, she heard a small creak, a rustle, but she stayed still. She wanted to give it the full opportunity to fully manifest. No use in scaring whatever it was away before she even got a chance to see it. After all, it wouldn't be able to enter her salt ring anyway.

This was her life, this had always been her life. Chasing the things that go bump in the night. So she felt safe, even in the presence of whatever this malevolent thing was. She tried to keep the people she was saving in mind, those she was helping. She never expected any of this to get her hurt, even though she had seen it happen. She never expected the things that go bump in the night to start chasing her. And she sure as hell never expected the burlap sack that was thrown over her head and yanked tight. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sasha sat begrudgingly in the chair she was bound to, tied by flimsy pieces of cotton. Probably from a shirt of some sort. Whoever it was hadn't removed the burlap sack from her head, and it itched. She wanted nothing more than to scrape at her head and relieve the pain but alas. The whole hand-binding sort of annoyingly prevented that. But then again, they hadn't killed her yet. Silver linings. Probably wasn't some sort of....other thing. Probably people, hopefully...Still, she wasn't really about the type of people who would kidnap someone. What she _wanted_ was to be working on her job. She yanked again at her restraints. She had been working at them for a few hours now, ever since they were placed on her. Of course, since she couldn't exactly see, she was sure her captors were keeping an eye on her. 

Suddenly, she heard voices, and she froze, stopping her movements, keeping incredibly still. It sounded like....arguing. They were definitely arguing. 

"I cant believe you kidnapped some _camper_ ," the first one, definitely male, whispered in protest. They were close, probably a room away. 

"Okay, okay, first of all," the second one began, definitely also male, voice raised a little louder, like he didn't like to be spoken over, especially in an argument. "She's not just some _camper_ , she was sitting in a salt circle. She had candles. And, she had this." She wasn't sure what 'this,' was, exactly, but she had a feeling the second guy had handed the first guy something. Could have been anything of hers....had they gone through her car? Oh God, her car. If they had laid a finger on it she was going to go on a fucking rampage. She started quietly pulling at her restraints, this time more fervently, but she kept an ear on their voices.

The first boy started speaking again. "That's besides the point," Fuck Boi Number One (as she decided to call him) protested again. "You can't just kidnap a person. I don't care who she is." Maybe Fuck Boi Number One wasn't so bad after all. 

"Well it's too late now, Sammy," Fuck Boi Number Two, the decidedly less liked of the two, said again. "She's already all tied up in there. I can't really undo that, now can I?" 

"Well, I'm going to go talk to her. Maybe we can...I don't know. Fix this, or something," Fuck Boi One said, and she heard the sound of footsteps, and a door, somewhere in front of her, quietly open. She stopped tugging at the restraints once more, looking up in the direction she thought the sound might be coming from. 

"Hello?" She said quietly, calling out into the void. She couldn't really be sure who, or what, was there. _They haven't killed you yet, remember, no one has tried to kill you,_ she kept reminding herself. "Anyone out there? I can hear you walking around," she said dryly. "Might as well take this stupid blind off me." Apparently, he heard her, cause the sack was yanked off of her head and she had to blink at the light above her. 

When her vision adjusted again, she looked up at the guy in front of her and frowned. Fuck Boi Number One, she was guessing. He was tall, very tall. Definitely over six feet, with broad shoulders and shaggy brown hair that fell past his ears. He was wearing a black v-neck and jeans. Didn't look like the serial killer type. "Nice to meet ya," she said sarcastically. "I always do enjoy seeing the people holding me captive." 

"Hey, I'm real sorry about that," he said, crouching down so he was at her eye level. "I'm Sam, Sam Winchester. What's your name?" He had a calming voice when he spoke, as if he'd had to do this before. Sasha couldn't help but roll her eyes. 

"My name is Sasha," She replied finally. "Sasha King. Mind telling me exactly what I am doing here?" He did seem nice enough, but she knew far better than to trust appearances. In this business, you learned that at a young age. Trusting a kind face could get you killed. Or worse, turned. 

"Again, I'm sorry about that," he said, shaking his head. "That's all my brother's doing. I'm sure he's going to apologize, too, if he ever gets over his ego and realizes he made a mistake. Now, can I ask what you were doing in that cabin? It's a little weird for to find a young woman like you all alone in the middle of the woods." He was clearly doing his best to keep her calmed down. Maybe she should just play along. But she also had the feeling he knew more about what she was doing out there than he was letting on. 

"Trust me, I can handle myself," she replied with another roll of her eyes. "And frankly, I could ask you guys the same thing. That campground is private property. Did you have an invitation of your own?" Maybe she was being a bit of a smartass, but she couldn't help herself. It was her nature. King girl's never knew how to hold their tongues.

The guy chuckled to himself a little bit, shaking his head. "Okay, you got me there. How about you give me a little information on what you were doing and I'll do the same?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully. 

"Oh yea, a little tit for tat, huh?" She raised one thin eyebrow back. "Fine, you really want to know what I was doing? Even though I'm sure you already know, just want to hear me say it myself. I was looking for a ghost." 

"A ghost? You? All by yourself?" The guy replied. "What a small world. That's exactly what my brother was doing. Just scoping the place out, really, until he ran into you. Now, I know you said you can take care of yourself. But what makes you think you can handle something like that all alone? I'm not, you know, trying to be sexist or anything. Has nothing to do with you being a girl. Everything to do with you being alone." His looked seemed earnest, concerned. "Also, if you're not going to punch me, I can untie those for you." He nodded towards her hands, still bound bit ripped up bits of shirt. 

"No promises," she replied with a small grin. "As long as you don't try anything, I'll hold back any violence for now. Anything to get my hands free so I can scratch this damn itch I've had for the past few hours." She shook her head, looking upwards. But when he reached back and undid her hands, she gave him a genuine smile. She wasn't going to be the shit out of him, not yet anyway. His brother on the other hand...maybe. After her hands were free, she reached up and scratched at the spot on her scalp that had been tingling for the past hour or so. "And I know I can handle myself because it's what I do." was all she responded to his question. 

"What you do?" he replied slowly, looking her over once more. She looked like some innocent girl, wearing nothing but a white nightgown and a tiny blue ribbon. Not exactly like the type of person who could handle a poltergeist on her own. "I'm sorry, are you saying you're....You're a Hunter?" He asked her, squinting his brown eyes in question. 

That word caught on her ears and she jerked her head up to look at him. "Yes..." she said slowly, after thinking for a moment. "How do you....how do you know..what a Hunter is?" 

"Well, my family...my brother and I, we're Hunters. So was our Dad, it's sort of a family thing," Sam replied. "What about you? How did you get into this?" 

"Also sort of a family thing," She shrugged. "The King family...all of us have been doing this for generations. Since my family immigrated here, and even before then. But now..." she sighed. "I'm all that's left. I'm not just going to give us the tradition, not when there's people out there who need my help." Suddenly, her stomach growled loudly. 

"Hungry?" Sam asked Sasha, as if it were an actual question. "There's food in the pantry out there, if you want some. Water, whatever you need. Um, your things...should be out there too. And your car....my brother brought it around back. He's a bit in love with it I think." 

"Everyone is," she replied with a shrug, standing up and stretching, popping her back with a groan of sweet relief. She was happy all her things were here, though not too pleased someone had driven her prized possession. But it would have to do. She'd get her things, eat, and get the hell out of dodge. After all, she had a poltergeist to stop. 

 

Stepping into the pantry, she all but froze when she laid eyes on the other brother. Fuck Boi Number Two. He was leaning casually against the kitchen counter of the small motel, munching on an apple, a bit of the juice dribbling down his chin. He was gorgeous, dangerously so, and had the kind of air about him that showcased he knew that fact, very damn well. His eyes flicked up when she entered the room, green as grass, and they roved over her body. 

"So you're the one that hog tied me," she said dryly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Going to tell me your name?" 

"I'll tell you mind if you tell me yours," he winked at her, taking another bite out of the apple, licking his lips almost eagerly. 

"Sasha King," she replied, then muttered under her breath, "Fuck Boi is right." 

"What was that?" he asked, standing up to his full height. Shorter than his brother, but still a good head above her. He moved over to her, quickly enclosing on her personal space. "The name's Dean. Dean Winchester."


	2. Chapter 2

“Sasha King,” she replied smoothly, sliding around to the other end of the table, keeping a tangible space between him. He must have been used to creating this sort of discomfort in people, must of known the kind of effect he had. “Word on the street is we’re in the same kind of business.” She grabbed an apple of the counter and bit into it hungrily. 

“If by same business you mean looking fine as hell in pajamas and driving the coolest cars in the history of, well, ever, you’d be right,” he replied with a cheeky grin, trying to win her over. He needed to make some amends from the whole kidnapping thing, after all. And everyone knew you could catch more flies with sugar. 

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I meant actual work but I guess we can go with that too,” she said, looking over at him, studying the soft felt of his plaid shirt, drawing all he way up to his green eyes. “You know. The kind that brings people out to abandoned cabins in the middle of the night.” 

Dean looked her over again, brow furrowing as he did so, before he cracked a grin. “Well yea, I kind of figured when I opened your journal and the first page was an in-depth sketch of a windego.” He pulled her small journal out of his back pocket and slapped it down on the table between them, sliding it towards her. “There you go, all safe and sound. You’re welcome.” 

Quickly, she snatched the book of the table, holding it tightly to her body, eyes narrowing. “You expect me to thank you for taking my property and reading it? There’s personal things in there.” She said, challengingly. She didn’t like the idea of people reading her entries, trace ideas of her dreams, perfect sketches of her visions...who knew what these two thought of premonitions. Her mother had been the kind of Hunter who believed some of the paranormal could be saved. That didn’t mean they were all that way. And while Sasha definitely wouldn’t consider herself of the paranormal variety, she was definitely ‘other,’ when it came to checking off boxes.

And when he grinned back at her she swore her heart nearly leapt right out of her mouth. "Personal things? That's a shame, guess I missed all the good parts while I was reading about all your hunting trips." He flashed her a wink, before taking the last bite out of his apple, throwing the core into the trash. Before she could reply, Sam walked into the kitchen area, hands in his back pockets.

"I see you two are getting acquainted," was all he said, though he kept his eyes directly on his brother as he spoke, as if he were conveying some silent message for just the two of them, some secret lingo. Something that made Sasha feel out of place for just being there, even though the whole act of being there wasn't exactly by choice. "But I think we all have some work to do. Namely, stopping whatever is going on at that campsite." 

"Mmm, yea," Sasha said, pressing her lips into a thin line and buzzing them together. "The camp does sort of expect me to take care of that. Would be pretty rude if I didn't actually come through." She grabbed her journal flipping open to her most recent entry, a detailed description of the campsite and the various deaths in the area. "I've done a bit of research, honestly. And really, you guys don't need to help if you don't want to. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," Dean muttered under his breath, looking down at her scrolling script on the off-white pages. Sasha chose to disregard his words. She wanted to disregard him as a whole, honestly. She didn't do the whole inflated ego thing. Wasn't a fan of guys who knew they owned the room. Just wasn't her type. 

"Wait, you said the camp knows what you're doing there?" Sam asked, wrinkles creasing his sweet face as he frowned. "How, exactly?" 

"Campgrounds owner is a friend of a friend of a friend. They knew where to come for help. 'The King's always come' or some shit like that," Sasha said with a shrug. "They're perfectly fine knowing what I'm doing as long as the situation gets handled. All they really want is for the kids to be safe, whatever the means." She grabbed her pen from the spine of the book and began to draw out the campsite. "So there's several locations of deaths on the premise, as well as a few graves. Before I was so _rudely interrupted_ ," she shot a glare up at Dean, "I was working on figuring out which spirit it might be." 

"Oh yea no, I got that covered," Dean interjected. "You think I spent all my time there binding and gagging you? Oh no," he shook his head, scoffing. "As fun as that idea sounds, I think we all understood we were working. And this one was easy. It's the lady who used to own the camp, who first opened it up way back when. And her grave is at the campsite so, easy salt and burn, case closed." he clapped his hands together, as if it were as easy as that. 

Sasha's brow reflexively furrowed. "Easy salt and burn? No. That's not happening," she said, standing her ground firmly. "This is my case, we're doing this my way." She picked her journal up from the counter and began looking for a specific page. The page of attempts she and her mother had made to save a poltergeist. "We're not burning anything until we have to."

"Are you crazy? This is classic poltergeist activity. Salt and burn is the only solution," Dean said, exasperated. Who was this new Hunter thinking she could come in and walk all over their operation? There was a way you did things, a procedure. If you had a poltergeist, you salted and burned the bones. Ghost gone. Easy fix. 

"Calm down, Dean," Sam said, raising one of his hands as if he were holding his brother at bay. "How about we let her say what she means first." Then he turned to look at Sasha. "Sash, if you don't mind me calling you that, what exactly do you mean we're not going to salt and burn? Isn't that the easiest way to get rid of a poltergeist, or does the King family have some secret we don't know about?" 

"No, you're absolutely right that's the quickest way. But that doesn't mean it's necessarily the right way," she said, leaning back against the counter behind her, wrapping her arms around herself. It was cold in that motel, in only a nightgown. "My mother had this theory, one we'd been working on. If the poltergeist developed from a human spirit, it can be saved. You just need to figure out what it needs, and then, if it's like, you know, a reasonable thing, you can help provide it, and solve the problem. That's why I was in that cabin all alone, I was going to try and speak with the thing, see who it was and what they wanted. We've got the 'who' checked off, now all we need is the 'what.'" 

"And if that doesn't work?" Dean asked her, raising a golden eyebrow, drawing attention to his perfect, frat boy style spiked haircut. He clearly took care of it every day. 

"If it doesn't work, then we do it your way," Sasha admitted. "I can't guarantee it'll work, so far every attempt of ours has failed. But I'm still going to try." She looked over her shoulder out the window, thinking to herself about her mother. She had to try for her. Her mother would be ashamed if she didn't. Somewhere out there, she had a feeling her mother was watching, and she knew this decision was the right one to make.

"And what if you just piss it off more?" Dean asked, trying to reason with her. This was crazy talk, honestly. More people were just going to get hurt. 

Sasha sighed, running a hand through her dark hair, then glancing up at him, meeting his piercing gaze. "Well, then I guess I'm lucky I won't be alone out there."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean insisted he drive. And because he insisted he drive, Sasha insisted they _not_ take her car, because no one was driving her '69 mustang other than herself. So Sasha grabbed her kit from her car and lugged it over to Dean's black Impala. When he popped open the trunk, she widened her eyes. Clearly, they were well stocked on their own. She had run into armature Hunters before but with these Winchester brothers, well...clearly that was not the case here. They had a plethora of weapons, for fighting any sort of beast she had ever encountered. 

"Colour me impressed," she joked lightly, setting her small duffle inside the trunk, trying to find a place where it wouldn't get pierced by a knife or mace or bat covered in nails. She patted her bag lightly, "Now I feel unprepared." Her tone was clearly all teasing, even if she still felt a tad annoyed that this guy had kidnapped her from her own investigation. Might as well make friends though, if she was going to try and pull this off with their help. 

"Unprepared? Nah," Dean said with a shake of his head, "You seem like the kind of girl who knows a thing or two about taking care of herself. Underdressed? Maybe." He eyed her up and down once more, taking in her soft, white nightgown. "Any reason you're dressed like a virgin sorority sister?" he asked, honestly curious. She had been dressed the same way when he snagged her earlier, too, and definitely had the opportunity to change. She was clearly cold, constantly wrapping her arms around herself when she thought he wasn't noticing. Hell, if that nightgown were any lighter he was almost _certain_ he'd be able to see her nipples pressing through it. Not that that would be a bad thing.

Sasha shrugged, and Dean was certain he could see just a hint of red flush on her cheeks. "I just...I know this is what I'm wearing when it happens," she replied, looking down at her feet. "Can't really get into it now, you just need to trust me," she didn't want to explain the visions, the seeing glimpses of things...the trances where she sketched small scenes into the pages of her journal, not even remembering the moment she drew them. That was a whole can of worms she wasn't about to open. It was too personal, too...awkward, even, to start to explain to a stranger. Even if it meant hanging around in a nightgown and nothing else, unexplained. 

"Here," he said, suddenly, shrugging off his plaid button-up and setting it gently over her shoulders. It was a surprisingly kind gesture, not one she had expected from him. 

"What's this for?" She asked, slipping her arms through the brown sleeves. His scent, cinnamon and some sort of whiskey, overwhelmed her as she did so, wrapping her tightly. She felt warmer already, and couldn't say she wasn't thankful.

"Well, we can't have you freezing to death, now can we? Not if we're going to pull this off," He grinned down at her, brushing a strand of her dark hair back from her face. It was oddly intimate, this small moment between them. At least, as intimate a moment one can have with someone who had previous thrown a bag over your head and tossed you in the back seat of their car. 

She smiled, ducking her head and taking a step back from him. "Well, I'll go get Sam and tell him we're all ready to go. Hopefully this will be quick and painless." As nice of a gesture as it was, they weren't friends, they weren't even really teammates. They just happened to be in the same place, same time, working the same job. She backed quickly away, giving him a small wave before she spun around and headed back into the dimly lit motel room. It wasn't very big, just the back bedroom where she had been tied, the small kitchen, and a bathroom. It was poorly lit by tacky overhead figures and the bed smelled like moths. The perfect kind of place to hide out. No one would ever think to look there.

Sam was standing in the bedroom, placing a ring of salt around the bed where the remainder of their items were held. He looked up when she knocked softly on the door frame, leaning delicately against it. "Ready to go, Sammy?" Sasha asked coolly, offering him a small smile. "Dean's got everything packed up in the Impala." She thumbed over her shoulder back towards the exit. Sam grinned, grabbing a small pouch of something or other and tucking it in his pocket. 

"All good to go," he said, patting his pocket, but stopping suddenly, and narrowing his eyes to study her. "That's......Dean's button up?" he asked quietly. "Where did you get that?" He stepped towards her, arms crossed over his chest. Of _course_ his brother was flirting with her. Didn't he always? If it breathed...Dean was interested. Without wanting to admit it, Sam felt just the tiniest pulse of jealousy. Of course, she would be interested in Dean. They always were. He had this charm, an unmeasured charisma. It was impossible to replicate. Women wanted to fix him, to save him, to simply be next to him. Sam had never understood it. He was just slightly envious of it, and only from time to time. And in this situation, I mean, honestly...Dean had kidnapped her for Christ's sake! Then again...maybe she was into that sort of thing.

Sasha shrugged, surprising Sam but not even blushing. "I was cold, he offered. Didn't want frostbite or whatever," she crossed her arms over her chest, almost defensively. She didn't know why she would have to defend herself over something like this. It was stupid, and silly, and she hardly even knew the guy. There was nothing _to_ defend, it was a kind gesture and that was the end of it. "Anyways. It's time to hunt some ghosts, I guess. Lets get a move on." She turned around and made her way back for the door, stopping and glancing over her shoulder, one hand on her hip. "Ya coming or what?"

Sam shook his head, muttering something to himself, before he followed her outside into the chilly, fall air. With the sun down and the moon up, it was cold, and he could see why she had appreciated the gift of the button up. He was just surprised his brother had been kind enough to offer it. It didn't seem like him, at least not the him he'd been experiencing lately. What with their dad missing again, Dean’s attitude had turned sour. If this one girl turning up made things better, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. The only way they could tell for sure was giving it time. 


End file.
